


Learning to Live Again

by sexysigyn



Category: Magnus Martinsson - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, wallander
Genre: F/M, Magnus Martinsson AU, Teacher!Magnus, Teacher!Magnus Martinsson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexysigyn/pseuds/sexysigyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Audrey Chambers is a widow but when her son’s second grade teacher, Mr. Magnus Martinsson, begins mentoring him once a week, she finds herself falling for the handsome young instructor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Anxiously I checked the time on my phone yet again and stashed it in my purse as I hurried into the school. It was parent-teacher conference night and I didn’t want to be late. I had requested one of the first time slots, 4.15, and if I was late it could affect all the meetings that followed. Luckily my sister had two children here so Jamison rode the bus to her house after school. I’d have to grab her a pound cake or something to show my appreciation; she saved me the hassle of rushing even more than I already was to pick him up at home and have something to keep him occupied.

“115…115,” I repeated over and over. I had neither seen my son’s classroom nor met his teacher so far. Due to long-standing plans, I had been unable to attend Back to School night at the beginning of the year. I registered guilt that I was not there; personally I felt that meeting the teacher face to face was beneficial to not only the student but to both adult parties. It established communication and showed the teacher that I was taking an active interest in my son’s education. I sent an email with my regrets and encouraged the teacher, a Mr. Martinsson, never to hesitate to contact me should the need arise.

Three months later, I was inspecting the many drawings and activity papers stapled to the large bulletin board outside Room 115, searching for anything done by my son. Tears welled in my eyes when I found one: at the top of the page he had filled in the prompt ‘_____ is my hero’ with “My Daddy” and drew a picture of him and his father, holding hands and both dressed in camouflage fatigues. I reached out and touched the picture, a fragile smile holding back the tears.

“Mrs. Chambers?”

I spun around at the mention of my name, hastily wiping away my tears. “Yes?”

Whatever I was expecting of my son’s second grade teacher, this was not it. He didn’t look a day over thirty and was tall- very tall- and slender, with a mess of curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. His smile was warm and friendly, with a kind expression. Just the energy and aura surrounding him indicated that this was a teacher who related well to his students and his obvious youth meant that they would find him  _cool._ “Good afternoon, Mrs. Chambers,” he greeted, moving toward me with his hand extended. “I’m Magnus… Mr. Martinsson, your son’s teacher. Won’t you come in?”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Martinsson,” I replied as he held the door open for me.

“Thank you for coming,” he continued, taking a seat behind his desk, indicating a chair across for me. “Academically, everything is fine,” he assured. “There really isn’t anything I can tell you regarding his grades other than he does very well and I hope he keeps up the good work. The reason I requested to meet with you this afternoon is because there are times when Jamison can be a bit… disruptive in class and I was hoping that together we could find a way to help him.”

I sighed, having anticipated something akin to this. All the graded papers Jamison brought home at the end of the week had high marks and he was always very eager to complete his homework. “I am so sorry, Mr. Martinsson…”

“Please, call me Magnus,” he interrupted.

“Magnus,” I corrected, feeling more at ease. “Anything I can do to help. Losing his father was extremely hard on him and while he has been seeing someone, sometimes I just feel that he is beyond my reach. That he won’t open up to me.” Heat flooding my cheeks, I looked down at the hands I was wringing in my lap. I had not meant to say that; it was far more personal than I would normally reveal to a stranger but something about his tone and the look on his face told me that he truly cared about how my son was doing.  

“Sometimes it is hard, for whatever reason, to open up to those closest to us. Jamison has the potential for academic success and I would like to nominate him for the gifted and talented program next year but before I feel confident in doing so, he does need to work on his focus and the slight aggression issues. The school offers a good guidance program but rather than send him to the counsellor and interrupting his classwork, if it meets with your approval, I would like to have Jamison start keeping a journal, writing in it every day, and once a week, he and I meet for an hour after school. If he wants to talk about what he puts in his journal, great. If he just wants to sit in the reading nook and do his homework or go to the library, he can do that. It will be up to him.”

“What kind of things would you want him to write in the journal?” I inquired, interested. There was no male influence in his life anymore and deep down I knew that contributed to his issue. Jamison was getting to the age that he no longer felt I could relate, even if that was unconscious. There was nobody besides his school friends and cousin Tate with whom he could just be a guy and he needed that outlet.

“Anything he wants. But he must feel confident that whatever he puts in it is private. If he should allow me to read it and there is anything I find concerning, I will let you know immediately. But he has an aptitude for English and reading so I am hoping that this exercise will help him.”

“I think it is a wonderful idea,” I agreed. “You don’t mind doing this? It is so much, you giving up your time.” This man was young and handsome. Nobody enjoyed hanging around after work when they didn’t have to; I am sure this man had other things that he would have preferred to do. A social life, a house to take care of, a girlfriend… But here he was, offering to be a ‘big brother’ of sorts to my son.

“Not in the least, Mrs. Chambers. It would be a delight. In many ways Jamison reminds me of myself at that age,” he explained, smiling. “How does this time next week sound?”

“Wonderful. Thank you so much, Magnus. I can’t express my appreciation for what you are doing.”

He stood and while I picked my purse off the floor, patiently holding the door open for me. “There is no need. I empathize with Jamison; it is the least I can do for such a promising young man.” There was another parent waiting in the hall for their conference so I quickly shook his hand and with a smile, headed back down the hall toward the front entrance.

I picked Jamison up from my sister Natalie’s and on the short ride home, I told him what plan Mr. Martinsson and I had made. I had been prepared to have to plead with my son to agree to staying an hour after school but he was excited at the idea. A lot of that, I suspected, had to do with the youthful teacher of whom my son was so fond as well as the idea of writing. As Magnus pointed out, Jamison had a way with words and always received his highest grades in English.

When his father deployed to Afghanistan the first time, when Jamison was three, I started taking him to story time at the local library every Saturday morning. We had always read to him as an infant and toddler but being around other children, socializing, doing crafts and participating in scavenger hunts designed to help the kids learn how to use the library helped him in ways that I couldn’t at home. Since then it had been a tradition. He had recently outgrown the story times but every Saturday morning we would go to breakfast then to the library to turn in and check out new books. Jamison read at a sixth grade level, far ahead of many of his second grade classmates, and I credited these weekly outings to helping with that.

They also helped my relationship with him. After losing his father, I was scared that I he would isolate himself from me. Despite everything happening in his life, despite the trips to a grief counsellor once a week, and all the fights when he screamed “you’re not Daddy!” at me, I made sure that this ritual continued unimpeded. I could see that he found solace in reading. There were characters in the books with whom he could identify. Moments of humor that made him laugh. The words transported him to far off places, both real and imaginary. Reading was escapism. Nose buried in a book, he didn’t have to be plagued by the real-world problems facing him, things that Kindergarteners should not have to even think about much less live through. The books kept us connected.

The next afternoon when I got off work, I took Jamison to the store and let him pick out a notebook. He chose one with Captain America because “he’s a soldier.” After dinner, he sat at the bar and started writing feverishly, kicking his legs back and forth as he lost himself to his words. For at least an hour he wrote, stopping once to grab his box of colored pencils from the den to add drawings to his first journal entry. Every evening after dinner he did this, sometimes spending half an hour other times no more than ten minutes. Rewarding him for his diligence, I took him to Red Robin for a cheeseburger and a mint chocolate milkshake the night before his first meeting with Mr. Martinsson.

Wednesday afternoon, he bounded out of the classroom at 4:30, beaming. “Did you have fun?” I asked as I knelt down to hug him.

“Yes!” he replied emphatically, head bobbing to reinforce his assertion.

I stood and looked at the teacher, who had followed Jamison out. “Why don’t you go wait by the office?” I suggested to my son, giving his shoulder a gentle push. “You can go watch the turtles while Mr. Martinsson and I talk.”

As he hurried off down the hall, backpack bouncing on the straps he kept loosening because that was how the “cool” fifth graders wore theirs, I turned back to Magnus. He was watching Jamison bound down the corridor with a smile on his face. Once again I was struck at just how handsome he was. His blonde curls were as unkempt as last week and the beginning of a five o’clock shadow was showing on his well-sculpted jaw. Something I hadn’t felt in years stirred deep inside my belly as I studied his profile.  _Longing._

I snapped back to where I was and who it was that I was staring at when he turned to look at me. This was my son’s teacher. I could stare at attractive men on the television or while running errands. This was neither the time nor the place to contemplate how lonely I was.

“I think we are off to a good start, Mrs. Chambers. Jamison was very forthcoming in his journal and open to sharing his thoughts. The effort he put into it was more than I could have hoped. I truly believe this will be a success,” he explained.

“Audrey, please,” I corrected gently. “Every evening after dinner he has sat down and worked on his journal entries. I had been anxious that after completing his homework he would eschew the idea of more writing but he has tackled it with gusto. I can only hope he keeps it up; he was looking forward to this all week.”

“As have I,” he admitted. “Jamison is an engaging child, mature for his age. He will do great things.”

I chuckled nervously, thinking of how right now his biggest dream to grow up and be a soldier was also my greatest fear. “I just want to see him successful in whatever makes him happy.” Extending my hand, I made eye contact with Magnus, briefly loosing track of what I wanted to say. “Thank you,” I managed, bridging the gap between my mind and mouth. “I will see you again next week.”

“Absolutely,” he smiled, dipping his head slightly.

For the next three months, with the exception of Christmas break, Jamison and Magnus met every Wednesday after school. A few times I showed up at the door to Magnus’ classroom to find a note telling me they were at the playground. Once, on a bitterly cold day, I found them in the gym playing horse, laughing as they took turns shooting at the basket.

In that time, there had been subtle changes in Jamison’s personality. He began coming out of his shell and socializing more, the aggression mentioned at that first conference ebbing away. He had one or two friends from school and playmates he met in the reading group at the library, but he tended to consider his cousin Tate his best friend. Suddenly he was asking to invite more of his school mates over on weekends. Once I even consented to a sleepover with five seven-year-old boys in my house. They played video games, chased each other around the back yard, and ate me out of house and home but hearing Jamison laugh and witnessing the joy on his face was worth the sleepless night.

He had always been helpful but when our church sponsored a canned food and winter coat drive for the town homeless shelter, he was eager to participate, raiding the cabinets for every tin of Campbell’s soup we had and the closets for the coats he had outgrown. He started to overcome his shyness by playing the Angel Gabriel in the Christmas pageant. I noticed Magnus sneak in and take a seat at the back of the sanctuary just moments before the lights went down but he was gone before I was able to push through the crowd to thank him; I assumed he preferred to go unnoticed so I neither brought it up at their first session after break nor did I mention it to Jamison.

We met for another conference at the end of that marking period. Once again, Magnus praised Jamison’s grades, commenting on how they were stronger than first quarter. It was a pleasant meeting but there wasn’t much new ground to cover. Speaking weekly when I picked Jamison up, I was well abreast of his progress.

The conference ended similarly to the last and the way we parted every week: with an expression of gratitude and a handshake… until I deviated from our routine dialogue.

“I cannot express just how much what you are doing means to me. Are you sure there isn’t any way I can compensate you?”

Magnus scrunched up his nose and smirked. “How about meeting for coffee?” he blurted.

I was flabbergasted. Our conversations until now had centered on Jamison. When it came to Magnus, I wanted to know more, to get to know him better, but at the same time I knew pursuing it was a bad idea. It wasn’t just the ethical dilemma of finding myself falling for Magnus, his adorable smile, and eagerness to help his students. Aside from the fact that the administration might frown on a parent dating a teacher, what would my son think? How would it affect him? Would he be teased if his classmates found out?

But what about me? What about what  _I_ wanted? Could I afford a moment of selfishness? There was no obligation to make this a regular thing. One date for coffee. If it didn’t feel right, we didn’t have to repeat it.

Best of all: nobody had to know.

“I’m so sorry, Audrey,” Magnus apologized, carding his fingers back through his hair, blushing ferociously. “I sometimes tend to put my foot in my mouth…”

“No, please, you’re  _fine_ ,” I reassured him, fascinated at the way his curls sprung back in place after his hand passed over them. “I’d love to meet you for coffee one evening. Do you know Earthly Paradise on Fifth Street?”

“Never been there but I pass it frequently.”

“It’s just down from where I work. Friday at four-thirty?”

He nodded, grin broadening. “Friday at four thirty.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arrangements for Jamison to go to Natalie’s after school Friday were made; when she asked what the reason was, I just told her I was meeting a friend. Moving between bases as we had early in my marriage, I hadn’t had time to make more than a few acquaintances and after my husbands’ death, I devoted my life to Jamison and working to provide for him, leaving little chance to see the few friends I did have. My sister asked no further questions, glad that after two years I was attempting to resurrect my social life. Had I told her I was actually meeting an attractive man for coffee, she would have grabbed a bottle of wine and pushed me down into a kitchen chair, pestering me with questions.

Friday morning I took extra care with my makeup and chose my outfit carefully. Dress code was relaxed so I pulled on my favorite and most flattering trouser jeans, a white tank top, oatmeal fly-away cardigan, and wedges in a muted leopard print. Because my clothing was in a subdued palette, I made a statement with a bold red patent leather satchel and bold jewelry- all except for the unassuming gold band on my left hand. I had taken off my engagement ring a year after my husband died, an attempt to give myself permission to move on but my wedding band was non-negotiable at that time. My continued wearing of it meant as much to Jamison as it did to me. I would know when the time was right to take it off but until then, it would remain firmly on the second finger of my left hand.

I arrived at the coffee shop just past four fifteen and ordered a caramel cider, quickly claiming one of the two plush leather armchairs by the fire. The fact that they didn’t relegate hot apple cider just to Autumn was one of the many things I loved about this little place. I’d never been much for coffee and I was a snob about my tea; having the option of a third hot drink pleased me and kept me coming back.

There were still about ten minutes until Magnus was due to arrive so I pulled a book from my bag and relaxed into the chair. Anxiously waiting as I was, I found it hard to get into what I was reading. It wasn’t that I felt this was a bad idea, I worried that we wouldn’t have anything to talk about. That this would be a failed experiment. Having to start from square one was terrifying. I was a widow at twenty-nine with a seven year old son. I was young but the prospect of dating was  _exhausting._

Maguns’ arrival interrupted my internal struggle, calling my name as he crossed the room to where I sat, smile dazzling as ever. He looked particularly handsome in dark jeans, a black and charcoal grey striped shirt, and black blazer left casually unbuttoned. “Audrey!” he greeted as I rose to my feet. Neither of us were quite sure how to greet the other so we shared an awkward handshake before he headed to the barista to order his drink. He tactfully said nothing about the fact I had already purchased my own beverage prior to his arrival.

“The coffee here is wonderful,” he complimented as he took the second open armchair. “I am glad you suggested this place.”

“Before she sold it, I knew the first owner and I used to bake for the pastry counter. But it just got to be too much and once I returned to work, I couldn’t take that time away from Jamison. It kind of killed any future baking though; I loathe the chore now!”

He chuckled, taking another sip of coffee. “What do you do, if I might ask? I’ve never heard you mention where you work.”

“I’m an editor at a local independent publisher. I got my degree in journalism and I worked for newspapers on military bases or online publications for several years. I’ve only been at Lloyd and Harris for a year but I quite enjoy the work. Not too hard and I get to read for a living, so it’s a win-win situation.”

“You know, I’ve kicked around the idea of writing a novel for a few years now,” he revealed. “Crime fiction or something maybe. I’m just not creative enough to actually come up with something compelling.”

“Oh I doubt that! If you ever write one, send it my way. I’ll help you get it published. Maybe a children’s’ book? You have endless inspiration for that!”

“Very true. Sometimes what those children come up with amazes me. Sometimes it is in less than good ways but more often in ways that are surprising. They see things in ways that we as adults miss. Often it takes a child’s view to put things in perspective.”

“What I remember most about second grade- and what I see so much in Jamison- is that they haven’t quite gotten to the age where life starts beating them down, reminding them that they are just another small fish in a giant sea. Small and inconsequential. Still masters in their own universe.”

“You remember second grade better than I do,” he admitted, fingers nervously tapping against his cardboard coffee cup. I guessed there was a story behind that statement but it was too early to start asking  _those_  questions. If he wanted to broach the subject, I would allow him to make that decision. Until then, I would stifle my curiosity.

“I just recall entering third grade and suddenly getting marks of ‘satisfactory’ or ‘unsatisfactory’ were no longer viable. Suddenly you were graded according to your ability. It was harsh introduction to growing up and I never really liked school after that point.”

“I hated school,” he admitted with a laugh, lightening the tone. “Funny, considering I became a teacher. I guess that is half of why I do it. To help kids enjoy school, maybe even like it. It’s hard but rewarding.”

“Here’s to rewarding careers,” I toasted, extending my coffee cup toward him. He grinned and knocked his against mine, echoing my words.

Ice broken, we sat and talked for at least two hours. Halfway through, he walked back to the counter and ordered a second round of cider for us both, resuming our conversation where we had paused it. We talked about our families, where we grew up, college stories, anything else that branched off these topics, and more; having informed him of my background, he confessed that he was inspired to become a teacher by one of his during childhood. One of the things I had been eager to learn was his age; I was correct in my assessment at that first conference: Magnus was not yet thirty. He and I were both twenty-nine although I was seven months his senior.

Only a thin streak of lilac at the edge of the horizon remained of daylight when he walked me to my car, somewhat awkwardly offering me a hug. “May I see you again?” he asked, blue eyes pleading. “I had such a wonderful time getting to know you this afternoon. I’d like to learn more.”

For once, my head and my heart weren’t at war over this proposition. I nodded, gladly consenting to a second date. We agreed on meeting at the coffee shop at the same time next Friday. He opened the door of my car and closed it behind me, waving as I pulled out of the parking lot.

All week I waited in anticipation for our next date. When I picked up Jamison that Wednesday, I had to struggle to contain my giggles. I felt giddy. We had only been on one date but I was on such a high from how successful it was. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but for now, I was going to let the feeling ride.

Three such Fridays later we made plans to go on a “proper” date at a French restaurant of which we shared a fondness. Two weeks after that, Magnus and I agreed it was time to tell Jamison. After five consecutive dates and long phone and text conversations that sometimes lasted well into the night, we were ready to consider ourselves in a relationship.

Both of us concurred that he should be there when the news was broken to Jamison so he could field any questions. I was scared at how my son would take it. In our discussion, I made it clear that outside those who needed to know, the knowledge that we were seeing each other should be kept quiet as possible. Sneaking around was dishonest but I did not want to be responsible if he were to be censured at work for dating a parent. I could not deal with that on my conscience.

“Go wash up, Son,” I urged Jamison as I dumped the noodles in the strainer. “Our guest will be here soon and I need you to set the table.”

My muscles tensed when I heard the doorbell ring, the chime echoing through the house. I nervously fingered the chain around my neck on which I’d hung my wedding band. I’d taken it off my hand but still did not feel it was time to fully remove it from my body. Soon, I knew. The time was coming, but for now, it was discreetly hidden under my shirt.

“I’ll get it!” Jamison called, wiping his hands dry on his jeans as he ran toward the door. Over the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living and dining area in our townhouse, I watched as he undid the deadbolt and turned the handle, excited to see who stood on the other side.

“Mr. Martinsson?” he asked quizzically when he opened the door. Of all the guests we could have had for dinner, his teacher was the last person Jamison expected.

“Good evening, Jamison,” he replied. There was something bashful in his voice. It was quiet, almost placating. I doubted it would immediately occur to my son why Magnus was here for dinner; by the look on his face he was perplexed but the idea that his mother and teacher might be dating didn’t register. Because I hadn’t dated since his father died, he was familiar with the concept but it was not something he expected of me.

Jamison turned to look at me, eyes wide. “Please come in,” I encouraged, picking up for my speechless son. “Dinner is almost ready. Hope you like baked chicken.” Turning my gaze back to Jamison, I nodded to him. “Take Mr. Martinsson’s coat and hang it up, please, then come set the table.”

Coming back to earth, Jamison took the grey trench that Magnus shrugged out of, hanging it in the coat closet. The scent of garlic, sautéed onions, and white wine filled the room as I pulled the chicken from the oven. “That smells delicious,” Magnus complimented, tilting his head back as he sniffed. “I can’t wait to dig in.”

And dig in we did. I had made just enough for the three of us. Having recovered from the initial shock, Jamison took Magnus on a tour, excitedly showing him the collection of soldier’s toys he had and where he sat to write in his journal. Pictures of my late husband were still on the walls and a wedding photo of us was displayed over a side table in the living room; I had worried about inviting Magnus over with these reminders scattered around but he was aware of my past and it was still far too soon in our relationship to “move on”. I had healed but until such time as I felt I truly had a future of any length with someone- be it Magnus or another- for the sake of Jamison and all the warm, happy memories we made as a family, the pictures stayed.

Kitchen cleaned and dining room straightened up, I called the two guys to the sofa where I waited. I noticed Magnus glance at the wedding portrait as he followed Jamison into the living room. What was coming would not be easy for any of us. How many times in the past week had I tossed and turned, restlessly scripting out every word in this conversation, planning out every conceivable response?

“Jamison, honey, we need to talk to you,” I said, patting the sofa beside me. It was an L shaped sectional and I was right at the crook; as Jamison sat next to me, his confused look from earlier returning, Magnus sat just on the other end of the curve, so we were at a perpendicular angle.

“Are we going to start meeting here instead?”

“No, honey. You see,” I paused here, taking a deep breath before backtracking. “You know what it means to date someone, right?” 

“It’s what grown-ups do. All the girls want to do it too but it’s icky,” he explained, making a disgusted face.

I had to chuckle at his assessment. At his age, I was one of those girls passing out invitations to my “wedding” with my “boyfriend” that would be held under the huge old oak on the playground. Charlie, the boy I was going to marry, got cold feet and, following a lengthy search, was found under the old wooden fireman’s pole platform. He was too scared to make the commitment so I gave him back the ring he nicked from his oldest sister and left to find greener pastures.  

“Jamison, Mr. Martinsson is here for dinner tonight because he and I want to date.” 

Silence. Jamison’s face was blank, emotionless. I hoped that he was still just processing what I had just revealed to him, working through the shock of hearing that his mother wanted to start seeing his teacher  _romantically._  As anxious as Magnus and I had been leading up to this moment, the revelation had to be even scarier for my son.

“Jamison?” Magnus said quietly, capturing his attention. “Since you are the man of the house, I wanted to ask your permission to date your mother. It is important to me that you say it’s okay.”

“But it’s not okay!” he shouted, jumping off the couch. “What about Dad? And all my friends will tease me because my mom is kissing the teacher!” Stomping his foot, he fled to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tears falling down my cheeks, I nervously picked at the skin on my hands. I was overwhelmed by how foolish and heartbroken I felt. I should have anticipated this reaction and I certainly knew it was a possibility but wrapped up in this infatuation as I was, subconsciously I refused to entertain the idea. Jamison was my priority but I had also let Magnus and myself down. I had not realized how lonely I was until Magnus came into my life but my son was my whole world and unless he came around to the idea, there was no way I could be so selfish and forgo his feelings.

“I’m so sorry, Magnus,” I whispered. “I didn’t think…”

“Don’t apologize,” he comforted, covering my hand with his. “We didn’t know. This was a risk we were willing to take. One I was willing to take for  _you_. Let me try to talk to him.”

“You really don’t have to do that. Once he has calmed down, I’ll talk with him. I think he just needs some time.”

“Please? Man to man.”

I finally dared to raise my eyes and look at Magnus. His blue eyes were soft, pleading. I could see how much consenting would mean to him. Giving him permission to convince my son to give his teacher a chance to make his mother happy again. Nodding slightly, I gave it, smiling wanly as he squeezed my hand. 

“It will work out, Audrey,” he reassured. “I promise.”

I fully expected Jamison to either ignore the knock on his door or to snap at whomever was on the other side to go away but he opened the door a crack, demanding to know what Magnus wanted. “May I come in?” he asked politely.

The door opened wider and Magnus disappeared inside the room, closing it behind him. I watched the hands on the clock tick by, my anxiety mounting with every passing minute. I knew that I deserved to be happy and to find love once more. One day, I would eventually have to consider my own feelings. I didn’t want to be alone forever. Tonight was not that time.

I jumped when I heard the door open again and watched as Magnus emerged, smiling brilliantly. Relief spread throughout my body as I slumped against the back of the sofa. The fretting had left me enervated, leaving me no strength to fight the tears that once again began to fall.

“Audrey,” Magnus cooed, pulling me to him as he sat beside me. We had heretofore never been this familiar but it felt right. More than that, it felt natural. Instinctively he had known that I needed to be held and did it without hesitation. Tight in his embrace, I said a silent prayer of thanks that this evening had, once all was said and done, come to a satisfying ending.

Magnus and I stayed on the down-low and remained careful, wanting to spare Jamison the teasing he- and we- feared. At first I could tell he still felt somewhat betrayed but by the time we took him to an exhibit on folk art from Magnus’ native Sweden, he seemed to have warmed to the situation. Sundays were typically the day we reserved for the three of us to do things together or sometimes even just the two guys. It was important for Jamison to be a part; he had to know that I was not being taken away from him and that he was not being overlooked.

But Magnus and I still needed time alone. The end of the marking period was capped off by a long weekend; technically teacher work days but Magnus completed his students’ report cards on the first day and took off the second. I also took a vacation day at work and shipped Jamison to Natalie’s for the weekend. For the next three days, my address was Magnus’ apartment.

He greeted me with a kiss when I arrived, taking my bag for me as I walked in. I had been here briefly once before but because we insisted on preserving some boundaries, we typically met at my house or public, neutral locations. With Jamison elsewhere, those borders could be crossed.

The space was neat but intuition told me that while not sloppy, Magnus was the type who maintained a ‘lived-in’ aesthetic. The papers on the desk and the random trinkets felt welcoming. Pictures in mismatched frames were on the walls, credenza, and bookshelf; I recognized one he had shown me to be of his grandparents’ home in Ystad, Sweden. Beside that was a second photograph, older, of two platinum blonde children. The little boy was obviously Magnus; the grin was unmistakable. Next to him, the little girl was looking at him with pure adoration. It must be a photo of he and his sister Anja.

“I see you and Anja have met,” he observed, his voice sober.

“She adores you,” I replied, still staring at the photo. “With good reason.”

“Why do you say that?”

Tearing my eyes from the image, I turned to face him. He looked sad, haunted. “Look at you! You’re a teacher, making a difference in the lives of children. Real differences.”

“Anja is a big reason I became a teacher,” he revealed. “I was seven when that was taken and Anja not quite five. She was my whole world. Three weeks later, she and my mother were killed in the same accident that left me with these.” He pointed at the scars on the right side of his upper lip, under his chin, on his forehead, and the check-shaped one on the back of his left hand. “I can’t remember much of the next year but what of it I do is because of a teacher who took me under his wing. I wanted so badly to be with them but he helped me through it. When I heard Jamison’s story, it was like I had met myself at seven. Like you, my father was supportive and always there for me but caught in his own grief and for the simple reason that he was my parent, there was sometimes a disconnect. Taking Jamison under my wing was the best way I knew how to repay the kindness shown to me as a child. I never expected for it to change my life but I suppose it has come full-circle. Mr. Jarlberg saved my life as a child so that twenty-two years later, my own life could be transformed as I did the same for another.”

“I never knew…” I trailed off, choking up. “I am so sorry that you lost them but they must have been wonderful people. Through you, they are inspiring so many. Jamison and I are just two of who knows how many people you have already influenced. We are all an amalgamation of those we encounter; your mother, Anja, and Mr. Jarlberg have all made you the man you are today. I know without any doubt they are indescribably proud of you for being strong and turning your pain into something so positive.”  

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you the whole story a while ago,” he apologized. “Instead I gave you half the truth. It has never been so easy to be honest as it is with you but I was selfish. I knew you were going through so much that I didn’t want to unload my lingering grief on you.”

I placed my palm on his cheek, directing his gaze to my face. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand. Rather rely on ourselves and carry our own burdens. Especially if it means protecting those closest to us. Been there, done that. But you don’t have to anymore. I have my own problems but it is you and I now. Us.”

“Audrey, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’ve fallen for you. I fell for you ages ago, back when I only saw you on Wednesday afternoons. The way you smiled, your windblown hair, even the tears that were glistening in your eyes the first time I saw you. Nobody has ever made me feel the way you have.”

I was openly weeping now. My fingertips sliding across his cheek, I pulled his face to mine and put all my feelings into the kiss. “Magnus,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his. “It is as if you spoke the words in my soul. My heart skipped a beat the first time I saw you standing there outside your classroom. You were so tall and young, so unexpected. How I struggled with my feelings, fearing them. Afraid of what I might do if I allowed myself to imagine. Who wanted a widow with a son? And you were his teacher; I was so confused but when you asked me to meet you for coffee that first time, it was as if all my confusion was gone. I was ready to take a chance on happiness. You knew what baggage I had and you accepted all of it without hesitation. I had never felt lonelier than when I was pining for you; now I am fulfilled.”

He sighed and pressed his lips to mine again, wrapping his arm around my waist. I knew where this was going but I did not want to stop. It had been three years since I had made love to anyone and I wanted,  _needed_ , Magnus desperately. I was ready to open myself up again.

Lacing his fingers with mine, he led me to his bedroom, unbuttoning my shirt as his lips trailed down my jaw to the newly exposed skin of my shoulder. I sighed as he unclasped my bra and slid the straps off, dropping the garments to the floor. One of his large hands cupped and gently kneaded my breast as he pressed his cheek to mine, warm breath tickling my ear. “You’re exquisite. I’ve played out this moment in my head but my daydreams can’t compare.”

Fingers playing with the buttons on his violet gingham patterned shirt, I chuckled. “I aim to please.”

“And please you do,” he assured as I kissed the smattering of freckles across his collarbone. Under his clothes, he was leonine, slender and muscular. A few soft hairs clung to the middle of his chest, a few shades darker than the hair on his head. There was a small scar on his shoulder over which I ran the pad of my index finger.

“This one?” I asked, looking up at him.

He just nodded and I understood. I kissed it, burying my face against his chest as he bent to nip at my neck, hands undoing the fastening of my jeans and pushing them off my hips. Part of me wanted to go slow, to relish the feel of his fingers as he lightly drew them over the curve of my bare buttocks and the small of my back, dancing up and down my spine. But the other half of me, the part that had spent the last thousand nights alone, wanted nothing more than to tear his pants off and toss him on the bed.

Attempting to find some middle ground between the two extremes, I grabbed the golden halo of curls and yanked his face to mine, kissing him with a ferocity that left no doubt the need I had. I was trilling with anticipation, the vacancy in my loins screaming for fulfilment. Still wrapped in his arms, Magnus laid me out on his bed, holding me so tight against him that I felt his own need straining against his jeans.

“Better take care of that,” I advised, palming the bulge. “I want to feel you naked against me, inside of me.”

Quick as a flash, he got to his feet and stripped the pants off, stepping out of them to crawl up my body. “Is this better?” he posed, fingers tickling my lower torso.

“Almost. Down…. Just… ahhh,” I breathed as his finger slid between the moist folds of my sex. I twitched as he circled my clit, just tracing the outer edge of sensitive skin. Encouraged by my shallow breathing, he resumed, each circle a little tighter, with just a bit more pressure, until he was steadily manipulating the little bud, coaxing forth deep moans from my throat. One finger slipped into my cunt, rotating in tandem with the movement on my clit.

He elicited an orgasm from me almost immediately but instead of satisfaction, it left me needing more. “Magnus,” I sighed, moving my hand to grasp his wrist. I wanted more than his fingers. I desired to feel my body adjust to his size, to feel the weight of him as he lay atop me, to hear the sounds of his passion. I wanted to be one with this man who had helped bring me back to life.

Eyes locked on his, I guided him as he slowly pushed inside me, gasping as he filled every inch of my passage. “Are you alright, love?” he asked, holding his position.

“Better than alright,” I confirmed.

Leaning in to kiss me, he pulled his hips back and withdrew almost as slowly as he had entered. To spur him on, I dragged one hand down his neck and chest, pressing down on his rear. His down thrust the second time was more powerful, taking me by surprise.

Three years was a long time to wait but Magnus was worth every moment of longing I had felt since we met. I cried out as he once again rubbed my clit, our every moment in synch with the other. Instinctively he knew what I needed and gave of himself; it was my pleasure to reciprocate, digging my nails into the rippling muscles in his back.

Every thrust was more aggressive than the last, my body writhing with every stroke. Tenderness tempered his touch, bringing out the woman that had nearly become obscured. My second orgasm at Magnus’ hands was quiet but powerful; I clung to him, quivering, as tears freely flowed down my face. Trembling as his own release rolled through his body, he moaned my name as he emptied his seed deep inside me.

Body curled protectively around mine, waning afternoon sunlight illuminating the sheen of sweat on our skin, I absently traced a design along his forearm. “Thank you,” I murmured, twisting my torso and placing a kiss on his shoulder. “For reminding me that I don’t merely have to survive but that I can  _live._ ”

He squeezed me tighter, nuzzling his nose against my temple. “Then let us live. Today, tomorrow, for as long as we are allowed. I adore you, Audrey. I admire you. I  _love_  you. I’ll remind you every single day to live and of my love for you.”

“Oh, Magnus,” I sighed, turning my whole body to face him. I kissed him, hungrily feasting on the taste of his skin. “I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, as long as you love me,” I avowed repeating his words to me.

And I meant every single word.

When I returned home Sunday afternoon, I took down a bunch of the old pictures of my husband and I. On top of the pictures, folded clothes, and other personal effects sat a small velvet box. Nestled inside was the plain gold band he had slid on my finger eight years before when we promised till death do us part. These were just material things; I would always love him but the greatest testament to what we shared was our son. Having finally embraced that truth, I had my closure. Giving the contents one final look, I closed the lid on the cedar chest in the closet where all of his old things were stored and shut the door. I was ready to move on.

In the place of the wedding photo that had once graced the wall above the side table, I hung a portrait of Magnus, Jamison, and I taken in front from a fountain when we visited the art museum. I wanted to neither forget nor erase my past; it was a part of who I was and I embraced that. But this was my life now. They were my happiness and the reason I greeted each day with a smile. Tomorrow could bring anything but I looked forward to its promise with every breath that brought it closer.

And so far, tomorrow has not disappointed.

  
  


_ Playlist: _

_Learning to Live Again- Garth Brooks_

_These Loving Arms- Otis Redding_

_Some Kind of Wonderful- The Drifters_

_Bless the Broken Road- Rascal Flatts_


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